


Thank You

by archeolatry



Series: Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Castiel's Mixtape, Coda, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Gen, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: Dean gathers up the courage to give Castiel the Led Zeppelin mixtape.(Post 12x12, pre 12x13; happens directly after my work "The Rain Song")_________________"If he didn’t say it now while he was all chock-full of inspiration, he might never say it at all."





	Thank You

Dean perched on the edge of his bed, holding the tape with both hands. He fiddled with the plastic case, opening and shutting it over and over, worrying if the ink on the insert may have smudged since last he checked. The label was stuck on well--not curling at the edges or anything. He checked twice to make sure it was rewound, so that it would start properly at the first track of side one--‘Rock and Roll’, just like he’d promised.

The label read **‘Dean’s Top 13 Zeppelin Traxx’.**

He’d spent the entire night working on it, from that first spark of motivation until the ink was dry. He slept--more like napped, really--for only a few hours. Around 6am he’d made coffee and given Cas’ truck a once-over, checking the tires and the fluids and the belts. Cas was getting better about those things, but he never really paid attention like he should--even when they weren’t hunting for Lucifer’s baby mama.

He was now gathering the strength to put the tape in Cas’ hands; that he knew he could do. What he didn’t have were the words to go with it. He couldn’t get past 'I made you a mixtape.'

_“I made you a mixtape, so you’ll think of me while you drive.”_

_“I made you a mixtape, because Robert Plant is way better at this romantic crap than I am.”_

_“I made you a mixtape. Yes homo. Full homo.”_

If he didn’t say it now while he was all chock-full of inspiration, he might never say it at all.

_“You picked a hell of a time, Winchester,”_ he thought. _“Doesn’t Cas have enough on his plate?”_

A soft knock at the door nearly made Dean jump out of his skin.

“Yeah?” he barked, a little more abrasive than he meant to be.

Castiel peered around the door. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” He could barely meet the angel’s eyes.

“I was just about to leave when Sam told me you were awake, and that you had seen to the truck.” Cas’ chin dipped to his chest. “I came to say thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbled. 

“I know I’m not the most mechanically inclined individual, so I appreciate the gesture. It was very thoughtful.”

_“Time to nut up, buttercup.”_

Dean stood up a little faster than he’d intended; his supply of ‘cool’ was all but tapped.

“I, uh... I made you a mix tape. For the road.” He extended the tape towards Cas, offering it horizontally between both thumbs and forefingers, almost like he was presenting the Eucharist. “I said I’d make you a Zeppelin mix, remember?”

Castiel blinked once, maybe twice. “I believe I might. That was some time ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, well,” Dean sputtered, suddenly bashful, “there was that whole Angel Tablet thing, and the mark, and Amara, and...” He swallowed. “Look, Cas, I know that there’s been a lot going on, in our lives, and...I wanted you to know that...”

_“Just say it.”_

“...even when you’re not here...” He let out a pained breath and began again. “I know I don’t always say thank you. I know you do a lot--for me, and for Sam. And...I wanted to do something for you.”

He urged the tape towards Castiel, who took it into his palm. The angel looked at it from all sides, examining the writing on the front and spine--Dean had worked _so hard_ trying to make it neat--and lifting the hinge of the case to examine the tape itself, which he held aloft. 

“This is an analogue technology,” Cas said flatly.

“Yeah... Well..” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I know how much you love old cars--”

“Old _crappy_ cars?”

“Sam said crappy, I never said crappy.” His words were a flood. 

_“Jesus, Winchester, what the hell is wrong with you? You sound like a nervous prom date.”_

“Uhm...those ones in red?” Dean placed a finger over one of the titles, “those are my absolute favorites, so...y’know...really listen to ‘em, I guess.”

“I will give them my undivided attention,” Cas said with a resolute nod. 

The silence between them was thick as grape jelly. It took all Dean had just to look him in the face.

_“Say it!”_

Before Dean could utter another word, Cas closed the space between them and came in for a hug--both arms. He gripped Dean tight, practically burrowing into the crook of his neck. Dean’s own hands wrapped around Cas, yoking over his shoulders. Right where his wings would be, Dean guessed. And before he could truly enjoy the closeness, Cas pulled away.

“I’ll call as soon as I get any information,” Cas said, his tone clipped. He turned and made his way to the door.

_“SAY IT.”_

“Cas?” He blurted the name.

Castiel turned, doorknob in hand, looking expectantly at Dean.

_“I love you. Please be safe.”_

Dean wet his lips. “Take care of yourself, okay buddy?” His voiced hitched in his throat. “And call us if you need help.”

_“You fucking coward. You total fucking coward.”_

“I will, Dean.” His smile stretched thinly across his lips, clearly straining with the effort of it. His eyes belied him, however; Cas looked as if he’d been gutted alive.

The door shut softly, and Dean was again alone. 

How could Cas do that? How could he just smile like absolutely nothing was wrong? Like he hadn’t almost died twelve hours previous?

_“He learned it from watching you, you chickenshit.”_

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, while the other rested on his hip. The sob that he had held burst forth, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

_“Just listen to the tape, Cas,” he thought. “ ‘My love is strong, with you there is no wrong’; ’for you to me are the only one’... Just listen to the fucking red songs, okay? Hell, just listen to ‘Thank You’. Just...”_

He spun around and slammed his fists onto the bed; the memory foam yielded under his knuckles, making the punch somewhat more satisfying. He bore at it angrily, flattening it until he could feel the resistance of the metal springs beneath. Until his knuckles were white and his breathing was ragged, and his tears fell unchecked. 

_“You coward.”_ He repeated the words like a silent mantra. _“You fucking coward.”_


End file.
